


A June of perfect drabbles - sansaery edition

by Saraste



Series: A June of Perfect Drabbles [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Ice Cream, Summer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:40:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saraste/pseuds/Saraste
Summary: Vampire!Margaery & Heaving bosomed naughty Victorian lady Sansa.





	1. Chocolate Swirl

Sansa gives her chocolate ice-cream a long lick, a little careless, as her eyes are all for Margaery sunning herself beside her and licking her own vanilla with broad, deliberate strikes, glancing back at Sansa, winking.

The inevitable happens, and a glob of melting chocolate swirl falls just between her breasts.

'Oh no,' Margaery says, 'should I help with that?'

Before Sansa finds her words, Margaery's already helping her, licking the dropped ice-cream off, then taking the cone and spilling more, ruining Sansa's bikini-top. Sansa doesn't care, because Margaer's kissing her now bare breasts, and the day is not ruined.


	2. no way out

Margaery never thinks that she shouldn’t, that’ it’s somehow not proper, unseemly, not done. For her, her love for Sansa is a shining light, pure perfection, very much the done thing. She loves Sansa with all of her, fiercely and passionately, but also calmly and tenderly, depending on the mood. 

 

Sansa loves her back with equal intensity, but with deliberation, with a steadiness that’s somehow almost frightening, yet her ardour is not less, not diminished by its surface lack of fierceness. The flame of her love is steady, unflickering, never-ending.

 

Margaery knows there’s no way out for either of them.


	3. waiting, wishing, hoping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampire!Margaery & Heaving bosomed naughty Victorian lady Sansa.

Sansa lies awake that night, waiting, wishing, hoping.

Her breath is not caged by corset, her heart can beat wild without her feeling faint, save for the anticipation, the _yearning_ she should not feel, for it isn’t seemly.

The creak at her window is light.

A cool hand caresses her neck, making her shiver. ‘Were you expecting me,’ is not a question that needs asking or answering. Not anymore.

Sansa’s world lights up as the sharp kiss pierces her neck, a cool hand caresses her bosom, and she lets herself forget that she’s playing with her life, every single time.


	4. what if

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utter and complete self-indulgent silliness. I regret nothing.
> 
> -

If Margaery were a cat, Sansa thinks – her fingers deep in Margaery’s thick hair, massaging her scalp and having her sigh in contentment as Sansa rubs away the tensions of the day – she would be a gorgeous one, and would lounge all day in a sunny spot, after having arranged her fur so not one bit was out of place. Musing so, Sansa hopes that she might still be in cat-Margaery’s life, because she can’t even think that she wouldn’t want to coddle her and spoil her rotten, whatever her form. The love would always be there, she is sure.


	5. beyond rousing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summer passion.

Beneath Margaery, Sansa swells, green grass and clover under her back, her grasping fingers digging into the rich earth beneath.

Margaery sighs and giggles against her, hands sure on her thighs, tongue and smiling mouth even surer, intent on wrecking her.

Sansa aches to be wrecked, to be crested and taken by Margaery's sure touch, to be made hers.

The sky is a limitless summer blue, like pale cornflowers in Margaery's hair, hot, like the fire in Sansa's belly. She swells, and crests, and sighs until she can sigh no more, until her body is beyond rousing.

Margaery laughs, victorious.


	6. her rose of highgarden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa never forgets.

The North remembers and Sansa never forgets.

She holds onto her memories like the precious  _ roses _ that they are, plucked too soon to be preserved, like her own beauty of Highgarden.

Sansa loves roses and hates them for the rest of her life; loves them for the memories they wake, and hates when she remembers and mourns, because roses sometimes make her forget, if only for a moment .

The pain is less piercing, with time, but it still hurts, right to the end, right until she’s old and hears that beloved voice again, knows it’s the end… and a beginning.


End file.
